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“Ooh!” cried Mrs Bennet clasping her hands together. “I knew my efforts to help the family would be rewarded! Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have. Why, this is much better than Mary! A townhouse in London! Ten thousand a year! You must be married at St George’s, Hanover Square with all your unwed sisters in attendance!”

“Mama,” said Lizzy, for once feeling more ashamed of her own behaviour than her mother’s and determinedly not looking at Charlotte, “we are already wed.”

“But what is this?” cried Mrs Bennet turning to Mr Gardiner for affirmation.

“We thought it best,” intervened Mr Gardiner smoothly. “There were some objections from his mother’s side of the family—the earl and Lady Catherine, Mr Collins’ patroness. The earl has since given his solid approval to the match, but at the time it was thought best to take advantage of the circumstances...”

“Of course!” said Mrs Bennet, immediately appreciating anything that smacked of scheming. “How clever you are, Brother! Oh, Lizzy! Mrs Darcy! How well it sounds! But why did he not accompany you here?”

While Lizzy hesitated over how she might explain Mr Darcy’s illness, Mr Gardiner again jumped to her rescue: “There were a number of reasons, chief of which being that Mr Darcy did not want to overshadow Mary’s big day.”

Lizzy then duly explained that Miss Georgiana was Mr Darcy’s sister, hoping that Jane and Georgie would not join them before her mother’s first effusions had passed away.

“Of course, I see it!” said Mrs Bennet. “The resemblance is quite striking! I cannot think why I did not perceive it before!”

Elizabeth could not agree with this pronouncement. Beyond the black wavy hair and a certain robust statuesque quality, the brother and sister looked no more alike than any other two members of the Ton. Georgie’s pale complexion was matched by eyes of the palest blue while her brother had dark eyes and was more tanned. Their only immediate resemblance was a decided chin, which looked very handsome on Darcy but less so on Georgiana.

Elizabeth had intended to introduce the topic of Mr Darcy’s illness by relating how she had been employed to read to him. But her mother waxed on for so long on all the perceived advantages of the match that Jane and Georgie were heard coming down the stairs. All confidences were at an end. As soon as Georgie appeared at the door of the parlour she was hailed by Mrs Bennet as ‘Miss Darcy’. Lizzy and Mr and Mrs Gardiner were fully employed in their attempts to minimise Mrs Bennet’s toad-eating of Georgiana.

Charlotte did her best to hide her amusement behind her napkin while Lizzy alternately glared at her friend and implored with her eyes to help. But this Charlotte was not inclined to do. She had suffered throughout Mr Collins’ visit whenever Lizzy shot her a glare of reproach every time her betrothed did something silly or pompous. Lizzy had still not forgiven Charlotte for marrying a fool. Miss Lucas judged that Lizzy should do a little of her own suffering. Given that she had snared the illustrious Mr Darcy, Charlotte did not think it would do her friend any harm.

Meanwhile in Basingstoke the newly married couple had spent their first night of married life at The Crown. After a tolerable early breakfast of tea and toast they continued on their way to their estate. While they had accomplished the previous day’s journey clasping hands, they had moved on to a more intimate posture with Mary laying her bonneted head against her husband’s upper arm. This progression was mutually agreeable after their first tentative night together.

Following dinner in the coffee room of the inn on the previous evening, Mr Elliot had suggested Mary return to their bedchamber first so that she might dress in privacy. After performing her toilette with the ewer and basin, Mary had opened her luggage to briefly contemplate Jane’s nightgown with a kind of terror. She could not bring herself to don it. Stuffing the delicate net once more into the depths of her trunk, she found a fresh chemise. Slipping it over her head, she scrambled into the large double bed, pulling the bedclothes up to her neck. After waiting in a stiff posture for some time, Mary decided that there was rather too much light in the room. She got up briefly to blow out two of the three candles before quickly retreating once more under the covers.

Sometime later a tentative knock announced the arrival of Mr Elliot. Carrying a single candle, he smiled nervously as he peeped through the door before spotting his wife waiting patiently in the bed. Resting the light on the chest of drawers, he arranged his nightshirt beside it. Mary watched with fascination as her husband tugged at the unaccustomed knots of the cravat Mr Gardiner had helped him tie in the morning. Aside from the fancy tailcoat that Mr Elliot had replaced with a more practical greatcoat before departing Longbourn, he was still wearing the clothes he had been married in. He gave a small sigh of relief as the last knot gave way—how embarrassing it would have been to beg his wife’s assistance!

Next, he unbuttoned the pretty embroidered waistcoat that Mary had sewn for him in the weeks of their betrothal. She had been immensely gratified to see him wearing it at the altar. On Mr Lucas’s advice, Mr Elliot had had a plain tailcoat fashioned in Meryton to match it. Turning his back on his wife, he pulled his shirt over his head to replace it with his nightgown. Mary’s mouth formed itself into a ‘o’ as the perfect pale skin of his naked back was revealed. His broad shoulders, which had not been so apparent under his clergyman’s robes, tapered gracefully to his narrow waist, partly obscured by his breeches.

After letting the hem of his night gown fall to his thigh, Mr Elliot realised with dismay that he would have to ask his wife’s assistance after all. There was no way he could remove his new top-boots alone without a boot jack, which he had yet to purchase. The boots had been rather an indulgence. He had seen a gleaming pair in the window of a bootmaker’s shop in Luton, whence he had travelled at Mr Collins’ behest to visit the clergyman’s widow who intended to lease Longbourn’s rectory. Thinking that it would befit a squire to own such a pair for evening engagements, Mr Elliot had promptly ordered the boots before his more frugal self deemed them unnecessary. They had looked very well when he viewed them in the mirror that morning. He was less satisfied with them now they had become an impediment.

Embarrassed, Mr Elliot cleared his throat. “My dear, could I beg your assistance with my boots?”

Ever willing to help, Mary forgot her modesty and jumped from the bed before realising she should have laid her shawl on the counterpane to wrap round herself lest she need to get up. Blushing, she thought it best not to search for it and thus reveal her mistake. She hurried to crouch at her husband’s feet as he lifted one boot. After some finagling, she managed to ease it off his person. Distracted by the sight of the silk stocking stretched over the toned muscles of her husband’s calf, Mary overbalanced when the boot finally slipped over the obstruction of his heel. Mr Elliot made a grab at her before she could topple backwards. He thus found himself down on one knee in a posture that reminded him of his proposal, but with his wife’s upper arms firmly gripped in his own. They stared into each other’s eyes momentarily before he found the courage to close the gap. His heart swelled as he brushed Mary’s lips tentatively before hesitating, thinking that the floor of an inn was perhaps not the most conducive spot to begin lovemaking. Pushing down the inner demon that urged him to proceed, his lips glanced to the side, and he placed a respectable peck at the corner of his wife’s mouth.

“Thank you, my dear. Could I trouble you to remove the other one?”

Disappointed at his hesitancy but unwilling to show it, Mary pulled off the other boot and retreated to the bed, turning her back so that her husband might remove his breeches in privacy. Mr Elliot hesitated over his smalls and, in doing so, his courage failed him completely. He kept them on.

Climbing into bed beside his wife but maintaining a respectful distance, Mr Elliot blew out the candle. They lay beside each other for what seemed an eternity, stiff as boards and supremely conscious of each other’s presence. Despite the impediment of their nightclothes and a good three inches of air, the skin on their upper arms pricked as if each sensed the nearby flesh of the other. Finally, a change in her husband’s breathing told Mary that he had fallen asleep. With a sigh, she relaxed somewhat and followed him into slumber.

Mary woke in the morning, somewhat stiff and sore, to find they had somehow bridged the gap in their sleep. Opening her eyes, Mary struggled for a moment to orient herself—she was married, in an inn, and her pillow had made her neck stiff. The delicious scent that surrounded her soon reminded Mrs Elliot of her husband’s presence, before the warmth of her situation and the realisation that the heartbeat she could hear was not her own led to the discovery she was lying on her husband’s chest. Lifting her head briefly to peep at her husband’s face, she saw he was still asleep, with his arms twined possessively about her as if she was a doll. Mary smiled upon noting the rather mulish expression upon his face.

Despite her discomfort, Mary was loath to give up being so close to her husband. She lay her head back down on his chest and tried to will herself back to sleep. This proved impossible, so instead she decided to count her blessings. In retrospect, it seemed incredible to her that she had wanted to marry Mr Collins. She supposed her wish to maintain the status quo had overcome her common sense. Still, pursuing Mr Collins had been the right and dutiful thing to do for her family, but God had clearly had other plans for her. Despite leaving her childhood home, she was now married to a handsome young clergyman who possessed an estate just as grand as Longbourn. Providence had certainly favoured her. As she dwelt on the momentous events of the last few months, Mary unconsciously began stroking her husband’s nightshirt. Her finger had innocently alighted on the fine lawn directly underneath it, but this happened to rest over her husband’s right nipple. Stimulated by Mary’s touch, Mr Elliot began dreaming of making love to his wife. He woke himself when a soft moan escaped his lips. His eyelids fluttered open.

“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Mary, pausing in her caresses for a moment.

Mr Elliot gently clasped his wife’s right hand before she could further excite him and brought it to his lips. “Good morning, my love. I could not be better. I hope you slept well?”

“Well...,” admitted Mary, not wishing to be untruthful. “I expect married life requires some adjustments, but I have never been happier.”

Smiling at this pretty compliment, Mr Elliot kissed the tips of Mary’s fingers before climbing out of bed. Making pleasant conversation all the while, he rang for some hot water. When this arrived, his discreet enquiries found the boot boy willing to shave him in an adjacent room, thus avoiding the awkwardness of dressing in front of his wife in the daylight. Of course, Mr Elliot had shaved himself for years, but he realised this behaviour would be considered eccentric in his new circumstances. Early adoption of this new habit could save him some embarrassment now.

Thus, after breakfast, modesty intact, the newly married couple climbed into their carriage to continue their journey. When Mary sat close to her husband and rested her bonnet against his arm, Mr Elliot thanked God once more for the sudden change in his circumstances that had brought him everything that a man could ever desire—a gainful living, a roof over his head and a beautiful wife.

The remainder of the journey took the best part of the day, pleasant hours that were whiled away discussing the countryside. The trip was a first for Mary. She had never ventured to London like Lizzy or Jane, although Mrs Gardiner had extended the invitation to her last year. Mary had no wish to visit the metropolis, which from all accounts was a wicked and frightening place. But an adventure through unknown countryside was interesting without being threatening. Each new signpost and church steeple was found worthy of comment.

Finally, the carriage turned in at some stone gates and the estate was before them, easily recognisable from Mr Elliot’s sketches. Three servants turned out to greet the new owners, not counting the groom—a number the housekeeper Mrs Bexham assured Mary was a skeleton staff, to be expanded at her pleasure. She had got some girls in from the village to help with their arrival. The other servants were introduced as the head footman, Mr Plackett and the chambermaid, Belinda. Dinner was awaiting them and could be on the table in as little as half an hour if it so pleased them.